


Briefs of Davekat Boxers

by Fiddlehoo



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cooking Lessons, Dave x Karkat - Freeform, M/M, Strider x Vantas, davekat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 14:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4022617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiddlehoo/pseuds/Fiddlehoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short stories with Karkat and Dave... as of now....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Briefs of Davekat Boxers

**Author's Note:**

> This may end up as multiple stories published as one post.  
> If not, I'll rename the title to something more appropriate.  
> Like; Betty Who?

            Karkat stood behind the main counter of the kitchen, a professional cooking apron round his waist. "Good whatever time of day it is for you, audience; trolls, humans. Today, Dave and I -well I should say Dave, will be formulating an unknown pastry, which I am approved no familiarity of. But I'll be coaching the rest of you how to make it. Well, how is this cataclysm feasibly possible, you sure as Hell should ask? I'll tell you: With my arms behind my spinal pull, and with Dave's arms through the synovial arch openings I make in that position, my associate here will lead the show."

            Dave said from beside him, "Hey."

            "So first step," Karkat sidestepped to the front of his associate, arms behind his back and waiting for him to do something.

            The two got in to their joined chef embodiment and Karkat continued his list of what first to do,

            "Wash your hands." They waddled in short steps to the sink behind them.

            Dave lathered and rinsed as his head pressed against Karkat's.

            "You really stink," he said.

            "Dave, shut up. Your argument could be valid if you were my nose, but you're merely a set of arms." Karkat turned to the camera, "If your arms start talking to you it's perfectly customary to tell them to shut up."

            Dave flicked his hands dry in direction of the speaker.

            "Ack! Stop it!"

            They waddled back to the main counter.

            "You've just completed the first step, congratulations." Karkat spoke and Dave's hands gave the audience two thumbs up. The lead chef looked round at the ingredients placed before them.

            "Head for your first ingredient -probably flour, and measure the exact-"

            Dave brought Karkat to the eggs.

            "Oh, well fuck that flour. I like to add what is most irrational to the bowl first anyway."

            Dave smashed the egg on the counter and tried to open what was left the shell over a bowl.

            "You can never be too reckless with your supplies. Especially if they are the most fragile product on the counter."

            Dave cracked one more egg and his leader went on,

            "Two eggs in the bowl-"

            Dave wiped his hands on Karkat's apron.

            "Oh, fuck! Why would you do that?" He caught himself, "I mean, why would you leave the shells on the counter?"

            Instead of picking them up as Karkat hoped he would, Dave went for the sugar.

            "Ah," Karkat grunted in frustration, "I'll tell you why, because making a slimy fucking mess is a pastime I just quiver for!"

            Dave got the measuring utensils but dropped them soon after,

            "Clumsy me I guess-"

            Dave smacked his leader upside the head and went to preheat the oven.

            "Oh, how could I forget," Karkat snorted after being dragged away, "Preheat the oven to... 350 degrees Fahrenheit!"

            Dave took them back to the sugar then.

            "Okay, now you won't have an interval of expecting the oven to get to the proper temperature later in the development. Anyway, sugar."

            Dave measured and dumped in the new ingredient.

            "Carelessly dump 118.29ml of granulated sugar into your mess of eggs and shells."

            Dave's pocket vibrated and he drew out his mobile to see whom it was, pulling his arm out from Karkat's hold.

            "Um, okay, because we're all phylum Mollusca and can retract our limbs whenever we so please, go ahead and do that."

            It was Rose, texting him about some fucking thing regarding non-alcoholic beverages with Kanaya and Roxy. He texted back instructing her to be a kid and go ahead and break out everything. He knew they had alcohol hidden there somewhere.

            "Sometimes I just like to enjoy the sensation of my external mucus rubbing against my internal mucus. Why don't we take a break and sincerely massage our insides. Dave, what are you doing?"

            He patted the leader, "You're doing fine..."

            "What the Hell," Karkat directed his attention to the audience once more. "If your arm won't respond to the signals you send it with your thinking pan, do not panic."

            Dave's free hand crept up Karkat's chest in the meantime.

            "What have we here?" The main chef eyed the arriving intruder in mockery. "Wouldn't you know it, my body has developed a mind of its own."

            The thing nipped at his neck.

            "Ow, stop!" Karkat leaned his head away from it. "Dave, hurry up!"

            The back chef took his time, and reached for Karkat's face. As the leader tried to stay away from Dave's hand with what little room was provided, their 'single chef' embodiment was distorted, revealing the second boy in the back.

            Dave looked up for a moment, "Hey, yeah, good idea, lets ruin the magic."

            "I just can't fight this need to touch my face!" Karkat flung himself round to avoid Dave's hand. At one point, it landed directly on his cheek and the back chef was able to stroke it tenderly as Karkat pulled away. "What nice skin I have, it is essential to have nice hands when you're a baker because, obviously, you work with your hands, and in doing so you torment them with your measurement dumping and egg smearing!"

            Dave put away his mobile and slipped his second arm back in to position.

            "Well, look who decided to quit wasting time."

            Dave snapped his fingers at his partner.

            "Hey, I'm not at fault here! I didn't hear my pocket vibrating! Let's be on with this, then. Next step..."

            Dave felt about for the dish of softened butter.

            "Feel around your workspace, when you point your eyes at the sun in the future, you'll know exactly where everything is..."

            Dave poured the next ingredient in the mixing bowl once that too was located.

            "Add 227g of unsalted butter. I think that's unsalted-"

            The empty dish was slammed onto the countertop with a loud CLANK!

            "Mother Grub, Dave!"

            The back chef mumbled into Karkat's hair, "I can't exactly see through you, okay? And who are you even talking to?"

            "Good question," Karkat frowned to himself. "Ladies and Gentlemen, if you find it better for your mental health to talk to yourself, I actually would encourage it. Now next step, how about flour?"

            Dave went for where he last saw the jar of honey.

            "After the honey, I mean. All right, spoon 15ml of human honey."

            Dave added a side comment, "Spoon honey?"

            "Yes, go lay down with your plastic container and spoon it, Dave."

            His rear chef chuckled to himself.

            "Moving on, for those of you who haven't died on the floor laughing in throbbing heaps of immaturity. Here's an idea, why don't we add the main ingredient to all pastries?"

            Dave moved for some vanilla extract.

            "Wrong way, hand. No, don't grab that bottle. Certainly do not lift it from the counter. Okay, put that down now... Don't open it. Do not open it. Dear audience, let's imagine it's opposite day, and explain what 'not' to do as we actually do it."

            Dave tried to envision where his other had with the measuring spoon was as he poured. The head chef held his breath and watched in fear. Most of it made it into the spoon while the rest fell in to the bowl, "9,85ml..."

            "That's enough," Karkat informed his blind helper as the spoon overflowed.

            Dave twisted his wrist and added the liquid.

            "Spill most of your Vanilla extract in to the mixing bowl itself, then pour in the 9.85ml you tried to portion earlier."

            Dave wiped his hands on Karkat's apron once again, earning a growl from his leading chef.

            "Why have aprons at all if you aren't going to soil them, right? That's what I always say! Next step is... Probably not flour..."

            Dave picked up the bag of sugar.

            "We -or, I already did that one."

            Dave put it down and picked up the bag of brown sugar.

            "Okay then. Now we need to pack in some of this other sugar. It's not granulated so the dissimilarity between these two -almost identical- sugars is favourably distinctive."

            Dave went off again, "Brown sugar isn't white sugar, you plonker."

            "Which one of us bakes more here? Oh, that's right, neither of us. In any case, I'm the lead chef, so whose got the upper hand?"

            Dave conked his metal measuring cup against his associate's head.

            "Ow! I've lost my sense of depth perception!"

            The rear chef mocked, "Damn straight."

            "Getting on with this," Karkat brought the subject back. "What you need to do next, is add some brown sugar."

            Dave scooped what he believed to be 237ml of sugar.

            "Okay, that looks like 236.59ml, la-"

            Dave added a bit more to the cup.

            "Oh, wait, that's not right." He watched the arms pat down the new layer and wait for confirmation. "That looks like 237.2ml now."

            Dave shrugged and dumped it.

            "Yes, that's right. I must've forgotten my own recipe. Be sure to empty the whole utensil, never leave anything behind unless you want your precious pastry to end up batty..."

            Dave put everything down and stood there trying to remember where everything was.

            "Whew, I'm beat. Or maybe I'm contemplating what I've missed. How about the flour?"

            Dave peeked round the leader's head and grabbed the bag of chopped pecans.

            "Well guess what, it just so happens I'm not ready to put in the flour. Fooled you, didn't I?"

            Dave took Karkat to where the scissors were and carried them back to snip a corner off the bag. He then, poured the nuts in to the same measuring cup.

            "142g of pecans sliced real thin for your pleasure. I don't enjoy washing dishes myself, so I use the same measuring utensil for everything."

            Dave felt the cup to make sure it wasn't quite full, and added the nuts.

            "Add those however you want, throw them in the air and catch them with your mixing bowl if you can. Maybe take each pecan in your mouth and spit them in, who cares, or to quote a famous chef, _who’s to find out_?"

            Dave crossed his arms and tickled his partner's ribs.

            "HAHAHAHAHA!" Karkat squirmed in Dave's arms.

            "Are you tickling yourself, bro?"

            "HAHAOHGODDAVESTOP!"

            "Who are you talking to?"

            Karkat pulled his arms out from behind him to block Dave, throwing himself round to avoid being touched any more.

            The back chef chuckled and clung round Karkat's waist in conclusion.

            Catching his breath, the leader went limp against Dave, "Just some spontaneity to keep you watching, Ladies and Gentlemen..."

            Dave laughed into the leader's shoulder.

            "Where were we, then?"

            Dave kept his head beside Karkat's and brought the box of salt closer. He took a smaller measuring utensil, just for the lead chef, and took a bit of salt. He held it up to their faces to verify the exact amount.

            "Mm, looks like 4.6ml salt," said Karkat.

            Dave filtered a bit of it out and checked again.

            "Uh, now its 3.11ml salt."

            Dave repeated the process.

            "Now its 2.3ml."

            Dave added just a pinch to the spoon.

            "2.46ml..."

            Dave nodded to himself and added the ingredient.

            "That's right, 2.46ml of salt is perfect, and I do mean 2.46. Think of the consequences if it were any more. Sweet grub sauce, and just imagine if it were any less! Those of you watching, the exact amount of salt must be 2.46ml."

            Dave rolled his eyes under his shades, going for the flour.

            "Oh now we're adding flour!" Karkat shouted in what shouting voice he considered shouting, "Here's an idea, why don't we add the most vital component of pastries?"

            "God," Dave had dropped the flour to cover his ear.

            "Oh, am I bothering my second head?" Karkat looked to the camera, "I'm experiencing early stages of mitoses."

            Dave slid his hand down Karkat's face to shut him up.

            "Bleh," the leader scoffed. "Now I'm calm. It's all about performance and tricking yourself into believing you feel differently about metamorphosis. Even if your species is totally incapable of such reproduction, why don't you just tell yourself: Hey, why the Hell not?"

            Dave hid his head again and reached for where he put the flour.

            "Damn it, I failed to recreate myself as a dork. Call it abortion, but he was too human for my liking."

            Dave mumbled, "You throb for humans."

            "Shut up, who said that?"

            Dave measured the flour and piled it in with the rest.

            "Take your main event and toss it in, 191.35g of it. Of _what,_ you say? Of flour, the thing you usually add first! What step is this anyway, the seventh? Who’s counting anymore, and who’s even watching this bullshit?"

            Dave tried to make hand gestures according to the leader's rant.

            "Cross my arms."

            Dave crossed his arms.

            "Excuse me," he said after a moment. "This is my kitchen, and I'm going to add the flour whenever the fuck I feel like it."

            Dave offered Karkat his thumb.

            "Stop, I'm not going to suck my thumb! In the first place, I'm still baking! Wait, how dare you call me a baby! It's my deceased twin, he wants me to stay in touch with my human side."

            Dave picked up the tin of ground cinnamon and simply shook it in.

            "Improvising, there's a wow factor." Karkat watched the cinnamon grains fall to the mix, calculating how much there could be. "However much salt is in there, just cancel it out with that same amount of cinnamon."

            Dave wrapped his arms round the lead chef and lifted him off the ground.

            "Ladies and Gentlemen, lift yourself up!"

            Dave carried him backwards to where the recipe book was laid open for reference. He scanned the page while keeping Karkat in the dark about what they were baking.

            "I think maybe I'll hover in this corner a little while."

            Dave memorised the remaining ingredients and their portions, and returned Karkat to his centre position on the show.

            "Be sure to walk away from what you're doing and come back later if it's causing too much anxiety or if you need a break from it all together. Baking is difficult let's face it. The first phase is to admit you've got a problem."

            Dave snorted at the leader's improvisation.

            "Well now that we've got the flour in there, who cares what we're doing next! Why not throw it in the oven as is?"

            Dave took hold of the scissors once again and tapped it round until he heard something that sounded like the bag of dried cranberries.

            The lead chef hummed in mockery, "I like to play blind. I think it really captures what this process is all about."

            Dave snipped a corner off the bag and tried to reacquaint himself with the measuring cup. Once he had the two necessities, he poured in the fruit.

            "Tumble 170g of cranberries into your mixing bowl. I hear these are sour."

            "Not dried, dried cranberries are usually sweet."

            "Oh, well I hear these are sweet, and with all this extra sugar we've got going for us, this pastry is going to be exceptionally sweet!"

            The rear chef held his arms out and turned until they met with a large cylinder can. Karkat made a frightened face towards his audience.

            "Where will I go next? You don't know, I don't know..."

            Dave took the can and popped the lid off, scooping out some oats.

            "Timidly, and behave unsure of yourself while doing so, take about 591.47ml of," he tilted his head as he read the label, "Old Fashioned Oats."

            Dave nodded at the camera while his head was uncovered.

            "Yeah, that's all right. _Old-fashioned_. Pretty fancy."

            The rear chef went for the baking soda and felt round for the smaller utensil.

            "The last ingredient is baking soda, but how much will I use?"

            Dave dug a whole in the container, trying to get some out.

            "As soon as I get this crap out, I can tell you..."

            The freed grains were brought out for Karkat to look at.

            "4.92ml, ladies and gentlemen. Now lets stir this."

            The mixer was already plugged in and waiting for Dave to find it. He reached over as far as he could for it, trying to avoid being bothered to move Karkat again.

            The lead chef watched his arm, "I think I can, I think I can..."

            Dave sighed and budged his partner a bit to grab it, then brought it to the bowl and turned it on.

            "Mix well while on low," he shouted to the audience. "If the speed is too great, the shit will fly all over your kitchen and you'll have one fuck of a mess! Remember never to look your mixer in the eye; it knows whose kitchen it wants to devastate! You don't need a fancy mixer, just fancy oats! Any mixer can be used for this, you may not even need a mixer: As long as you're able to grind all these shells and nuts and other solid shit, you should be okay!"

            Dave silenced the machine and took it out to rest.

            "What sort-" Karkat immediately lowered his voice, "What sort of consistency you want is what we're going for here."

            Dave picked up the bowl and scooted sideways to the clean portion of their counter.

            "This looks interesting," said the lead chef as he observed their concoction. "Is it a biscuit? If you're unsure of what you've created, you can always ask the non-living items you've put round yourself."

            Dave saw the spatula while walking over and knew just where to grab for it.

            "Wow, that was surprisingly easy. Is my deceased twin back?" Karkat peeked at either shoulder to make sure Dave hadn't been cheating.

            "What," the rear asked.

            "How ever did you find that so quickly?"

            "I'm not cheating."

            "Hmm," Karkat shared a doubting look with the audience.

            Dave made little mounds of batter on the sheet, trying to space them evenly.

            "Take clumps of your Whatever It Is and place them randomly on your sheet. It's all in the _not knowing what will come out_ that makes this so fun."

            The pan was soon filled and Dave was searching aimlessly for the rest of the dough in the bowl.

            "That seems to be it, hands," Karkat said as he watched.

            Dave put on his oven gloves and took the pan and Karkat to the oven.

            "The bit you've all been waiting for," the lead said as he waddled off. "This will help your pastry grow like we're starting our own greenhouse. Who didn't already know that, anyone? Well if not, you've been sheltered, my dear audience."

            The oven door was opened and Dave bent down to slide the pan in, Karkat nearly sitting in his lap.

            "Oh, this is strange," Karkat muttered. "I've never found this to be so uncomfortable, I'm just placing the biscuits in the oven! Why do I feel like an invisible force is embracing me? Could it be an aftershock to the mitosis failure? Do all creatures of mitosis feel like this when they're baking?"

            Dave pushed the rest of the pan in with the tips of his gloves when he found he couldn't push Karkat in to the oven any farther. He then, came to a stand and closed the oven as before.

            "You should probably set a timer."

            Dave set the oven as he was told.

            "Bake for 10 minutes," said the lead chef after he saw Dave press buttons. "Now an intermission. Let's play What the Hell Are We Even Baking?"

            "Good idea," said Dave.

            "They're definitely biscuits, there was no muffin tin, there was no cake tin, they've got to be biscuits."

            "Hoorah," said Dave.

            "Are they pecan, cranberry, oat?"

            "Nope."

            Karkat squinted, "Are they brown, white sugar?"

            "Nope."

            "Okay, clever-clogs, if they're not named after what they're made of: Are they Dork biscuits?"

            "Nope," Dave said once again.

            "Are they Dave's An Absolute Dick?"

            "Nope."

            "They don't exist, you've made biscuits that don't exist. Are they biscuits at all?"

            "Oh yeah..."

            Karkat frowned to the camera, "What the fuck..."

            The rear chef had the mixing blades removed and offered one to Karkat.

            "You'll need to feed me, I only have your two hands."

            The two of them stood in their kitchen backdrop eating what was left of the batter, spitting shells in the bowl whenever they appeared. When came time, the oven timer sound and they waddled over to retrieve the pan.

            "The fucking biscuits have finished baking and we haven't a flying fig what they could be!"

            The pan was laid out to cool and Karkat was given another intermission.

            "Are they just pecan biscuits?"

            "Nope."

            "They don't exist! I'm not playing a game with no ending! At least in Monopoly you can clearly see the finish line, but this has no definite conclusion! Dave, O Master of Baking, why don't you tell us what they are?"

            The rear chef didn't speak.

            "Very funny, arms can't talk, can they? Hilarious, but the audience knows by now that you're only standing behind me, and are in fact, another being capable of telling us what the fuck these are."

            Karkat stepped aside to reveal him but Dave tagged along to keep it real. Karkat tightened his hold on the rear chef's arms and spun round, knowing he wouldn't be able to hide himself then. Dave went for the ride but still said nothing.

            "Dave," squeaked Karkat. "What the fuck are these?"

            There was no reply, and the leading chef became so irritated that he smashed his face into the baking tin and grabbed a mouth full.

            "Fuck, it's hot! Are they Burn the Leading Chef Out of Revenge biscuits?"

            "No," Dave said in distaste of Karkat's lack of creativity.

            The head chef chewed, "Okay, there's a shell. Well, are they oat?"

            "No," Dave rested his head on Karkat's.

            "Are they vanilla? There's a Hell of a lot of that..."

            "No."

            "Are they cranberry?"

            "No."

            Karkat looked at the camera, "Thank you for watching, if you still are, and had means to do so in the first place. Hey, why don't you come up with your own name for these mysterious biscuits and comment to my message board? I'll name it something related to guessing pastry names, like Betty Who?"

            "That's cute."

            "Dave, now that you're here, can you tell us what sort of crap load we've just baked? Are they your secret recipe and called something only you would know?"

            "Dude, you just advertised a chat dedicated to naming them, and you want me to spoil the fun? That's like digging up treasure and ordering all your pirate friends to guess what's inside. Oh, it's gold! That's what I thought it was anyway. Do we get a prize for guessing right? How about the babe we abducted from the island? Captain, that's my wife. And she's the greatest prize you'll ever get. Aw Hell."

            "That's true, isn't it? All right, thanks again everyone. Shows over. Remember to clean your countertop." Karkat let the rear chef loose and turned the camera off.

            "Okay, Dave, what are they?"

            He had one in his mouth, "They're vanilla as shit..."


End file.
